


Knuckles

by shealwaysreads (onereader)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: A Whisper of Foot Kink, Anal Fisting, Bathing Your Lover As An Act Of Adoration, Bathing/Washing, Body Worship, Dirty Talk, Established Relationship, FWF: Fisting With Feels, Fisting, HP Kinkuary 2021, Hair Washing, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Kink And Tenderness Are Not Mutually Exclusive, M/M, but make it romantic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-28
Updated: 2021-02-28
Packaged: 2021-03-12 08:09:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,473
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29756655
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/onereader/pseuds/shealwaysreads
Summary: Like this, on his knees, his chest and face still down on the mattress, Draco was an elegant arch of everything Harry loved. Open and revealed to Harry’s hunger, willing and wanting.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Comments: 41
Kudos: 203
Collections: HP Kinkuary 2021





	Knuckles

**Author's Note:**

> Written for HP Kinkuary 2021, I’m showing up for day 23’s fisting prompt a week late with a Starbucks and a hint of about 3 other kinks for extra _flavour_.
> 
> Big thanks to M0stlyVoid and Maesterchill for the eagle-eyed beta work, I’ve played with it since so any remaining errors are all mine! ❤️

_“I don’t want to use any…” he paused, swallowed before he committed to his course of action. “No potions, and no Muggle drugs either. If we’re doing this, then I want it to just be me and you and nothing between us.”_

_Draco nodded, a little eager, a little reluctant. “Yes. I’m—I’d prefer it that way too.”_

_“This isn’t going to happen quickly; you’re going to have to work for it.”_

_That earned him a dark look, and Draco’s lip curled. It made Harry want to wrap his fingers around Draco’s throat and breathe in his gasps. And Draco knew it._

_“I’ll run you a bath, then we’re starting with the smallest one.” Harry left Draco in the bedroom, his fingers already reaching out to trace the curves of the first of three solid black plugs Harry had set out on their dressing table._

* * *

There was no fixed agreement, not since the very first time. Now Harry knew the signs; the way Draco gasped “ _More,_ ” literal and honest even when he rode Harry till he clutched at Draco like a broken man; the way he reached back to touch his hole after Harry had finished in him; and now this, the plug that had started it all, left sitting on Harry’s bedside table for him to find after his run. 

“Draco, I’m going for a shower,” he called out, loud enough to be heard in the study down the hall. 

He stripped and stepped under the spray—an instantly hot and gratifyingly heavy fall of water that Draco had wrangled out of the plumber with steely determination and no small amount of Galleons—and listened for the sound of footsteps while he scrubbed himself down. 

Draco was quiet though—he must have padded through their bedroom in his socks—until he spoke, and that was quiet too. “I bathed this morning.” 

Harry turned and watched him lean in the doorway, jaw set, grey eyes wanting. Deliberately casual. “I know. Come in with me anyway.”

He let the water sluice away the last of the soap on his body, waiting for Draco to decide. For a long moment, Draco was still; thinking, or maybe just enjoying Harry’s eyes on him. Then he began to unbutton his shirt, and Harry knew that today, it was a yes.

Draco _was_ clean, he’d been in the shower for half an hour that morning, and his hair still had the slight curl that it got when he let it dry naturally rather than charming it. But he shed his clothes and joined Harry under the water anyway. Better yet, he let Harry smooth his hands from his shoulders to his arse, let him murmur familiar spells to clean him where fingers couldn’t reach, not yet. 

“Eager, are we?” Draco asked, and he almost curled his lip, the echo of a boy he had set aside so many years ago.

Harry just stroked his finger between Draco’s cheeks until he could rub firmly against his perineum; then looked down at where Draco’s erection poked against his hip. “Seems that way to me.”

Draco rolled his eyes, and tilted his body away, so that Harry’s searching fingers broke contact with his skin. “We’re not fucking in the shower,” he muttered as he tipped his head back to let the water stream through his hair.

Harry ignored the argument-bait so generously dangled in front of him, opting instead to squeeze a puddle of Draco’s shampoo in his palm. He’d learned that slow and steady usually won the race with Draco. 

“Head back,” Harry said, and despite his attempts at being irritating, Draco did as he was asked. His hair was shorter now, loose on top but almost skin-close stubble at the back and sides, prickly and velvet-soft in turn under Harry’s fingertips. Harry took his time massaging Draco’s scalp, working the suds through his wet-dark hair before cupping water in his hands and rinsing thoroughly.

They shared the same soap, had for years, so it was the familiar scent of sandalwood and almond that filled the shower cubicle as he washed Draco’s body—his shoulders, the bony bump of his clavicles, the slick expanse of his chest and belly. Harry even knelt, squinting through the water in his face while he carefully, but thoroughly, ran his soapy hands over thighs, knees, calves. He lifted Draco’s legs one at a time to wash his feet, and Draco sucked in a breath—half gasp, half laugh—when Harry even soaped between his toes.

Draco was a hard, sharp edge of a man, but like this he was yielding. Like this he made himself soft for Harry, let himself be soft for this. They didn’t do it often, hardly at all, which meant it took forever, but Harry loved it. He loved how Draco needed to fight first, to rile Harry up as if it would make him rough, when Draco knew that the only way for Harry to do this was gently.

* * *

Normally, Harry didn’t think much about the way his tattoos looked; they were a practical application of magic to skin, they helped with his work; protection and detection for dark curses lurking in old buildings and treasures. Nobody else cared much about them either, the scar on Harry’s forehead continuing to hold centre stage for every person he passed on the street. But Draco liked Harry’s tattoos. He understood them, too. When they sat on the sofa watching films he would take Harry’s hands and trace the runes and geometric outlines of flesh-deep spellwork, he’d whisper the incantations that made them glow red like sunlight through closed eyes, and kiss Harry’s knuckles.

Harry only cared about the way his tattoos looked when his hands were on Draco’s body, the stark contrast of the black ink and heavy lines against Draco’s pale skin and silvery scars making something hot curl in Harry’s hips. 

He always took it slow, on days like this. Once he’d washed Draco, he gently towelled him dry, and laid him out on their bed, face down, ready. Already Draco had left behind his antagonism, accepting the ease and acceptance Harry insisted on. He applied his hands; thumbing at the sensitive arch of Draco’s feet, sweeping firmly up the tensile strength of his calves, his thighs, the dip of his back, all the way to the slope of his shoulders and the closely shorn hair at the nape of his neck. Draco was an expanse of texture under Harry’s fingertips; soft skin, the tickling crispness of the hair on his legs, muscle and tendon and bone. All of it beautiful.

Draco was never reticent in bed, and this was no different. Harry’s hands on his body always provoked sound, the whisper of breath and the rumbling depth of his moans, and Harry loved it; loved knowing the effect he had on Draco. Harry draped himself over him to listen to it, propped up on his elbows so he could whisper into his ear and lazily thrust between his cheeks.

“I’m going to eat you out, first,” he tongued at Draco’s earlobe, smiling at the responding shiver he felt all along his front. “Then I’m going to finger you,” Harry rolled his hips, his cock already aching in anticipation, his precome made the way sticky and perfect, “and then I’m going to get my whole hand all up inside you.”

“ _Fuck,_ ” Draco’s voice was a hiss, and he slid his hands up to hold onto the pillow his head rested on. “Okay.”

“Yeah?”

Draco reached back, clutching at Harry’s hip. He turned his head, and already his breath was quick. “ _Yes_.”

“Good,” Harry said, and then he said it again, only this time it was smeared into the sensitive hollow behind Draco’s ear, quiet, and hot, and just for him.

He put his mouth to the first bump of Draco’s spine and began his descent, trailing his fingers along Draco’s sides as he kissed over the sharp edges of his shoulder blades and ran his tongue over the muscles that bunched there when Draco took the bedcovers in a firm grip, readying himself. 

Harry leaned his head against Draco’s back for a moment, pressing one ear to the skin between his shoulders, and heard the thud of his heart, rapid already. He put his mouth to the spot, an open kiss before he made his way downward. The swell of Draco’s arse never failed to make Harry want to reach out and touch, so he did, squeezing the firm muscle of Draco’s cheeks and parting them so he could dip his head down and kiss Draco there, too.

It had taken Harry a while to get his head around rimming, and like most things in life, magic made it easier; the charms he cast in the shower left only the warm salty taste of Draco’s skin. He stroked his tongue across Draco’s hole and sucked on the delicate skin behind his balls. Draco swore, with his face buried in a pillow by the sounds of it. It was a good sound, so Harry pushed Draco down into the bed and held him firm while he feasted on him. He kissed and licked and sucked, anything that made him wet, and loose, and messy with Harry’s saliva. 

It was slow, the gradual way Draco’s body relaxed; he wasn’t the uptight prick he’d once been, but he still struggled sometimes to be vulnerable like this, to just _be_. Harry did too, most days. So this—this necessary and practical unravelling—was part of what they both loved about the rare occasions they indulged in toeing the line of their shared limits.

Harry rested his cheek against Draco’s arse cheek, panting slightly, his face wet, and pushed the tip of his ring finger past the spit-slick furl of his hole. Draco nudged back, the tiniest hitch of his hips, and Harry grinned, then slid his finger further in. 

“Hips up,” he instructed, his free hand at Draco’s waist to help him up.

Draco obliged, and the shift in position made Draco clench down around his finger. Harry groaned, and for a moment he thought about forgetting his plan and fucking his cock into that clinging tightness. Like this, on his knees, his chest and face still down on the mattress, Draco was an elegant arch of everything Harry loved. Open and revealed to Harry’s hunger, willing and wanting.

Harry moved his finger, stroking gently, and then cast wandlessly to conjure their preferred lube right there inside of Draco.

“ _Fuck_ , Harry, that’s—”

Harry grinned, even though Draco couldn’t see him, and pushed another finger into Draco’s hole. “I know.” 

He took his time fingering Draco, long enough that the light shining through their window changed. Long enough that he conjured more lube to keep the way slick and slippery. Draco’s thighs were shaking by the time Harry fit all four fingers inside him, buried deep enough that the runes inked into Harry’s skin were hidden. Draco had stopped bothering trying to smother his constant stream of moans and begging into the bedding anymore, and it had Harry’s cock aching and wet. But he could wait. 

“You’re ready, Draco.” He never asked. Draco lost the delicate hold he had on this perfect, lax state if Harry asked. But Harry always told him, and then waited.

Draco rolled his head to the side, resting his temple on Harry’s pillow. His face was flushed, his eyes dark. It took him a moment to reply. “Yeah,” he said, “yeah, I am.”

Harry put his forehead to the base of Draco’s spine—so he could watch every moment of it, close up—then folded his thumb into his palm and pressed forward. Draco’s rim was pink and wet, soft and stretched, and so fucking perfectly tight as Harry pushed his hand inside of him that Harry wanted to scream. It never failed to make him shiver, to make him pant, to make his cock twitch and his heart stutter to see this proof of what Draco shared with him. Everything. And this, too. 

“Fuck,” he whispered against the sweaty skin he rested his mouth on, salty against his lips. “I’m nearly there Draco, we’re nearly there. It’s my knuckles now.”

Draco was quiet, but he tilted his hips, and Harry had to grab at his pale flank to steady himself at the way Draco begged with his body, a silent demand. He conjured more lube, coated the back of his hand, the clench of his palm, all the way up to his wrist, and then sat back on his heels and gently worked his arm. Slow, twisting pushes were what worked best for Draco, the nudge of Harry’s fingertips against his prostate along with the sliding friction of his hand against Draco’s tender rim opened him up and made him want more, made him want it all. 

Harry breathed deep, and then pushed, and Draco’s body acquiesced; slow, aching, sudden.

Draco shivered as Harry’s knuckles pushed past what little resistance his body put up, and then groaned—guttural and utterly unrestrained—when finally Harry’s hand, _his whole hand_ , was past the tightness of muscle and seated inside of him.

Harry’s cock rested, aching and untouched, against the arch of Draco’s foot as he knelt behind him. He could twitch his hips, thrust, and come undone right there as he watched the way Draco wrapped around him. Draco’s toes curled as Harry turned his wrist; they touched his balls and Harry gasped in time with Draco. 

“I wish you could see this,” Harry muttered. “I’m going to show you, tomorrow. In the Pensieve. I’m going to sit you on my lap, with my cock in you, and then I’m going to show you just what you look like when you give yourself up like this. So fucking beautiful.”

Draco hardly spoke when they did this, it was like his ability to form words was pushed right out of him to make room for Harry’s fist, but the twitch of his hips—instinctual and unrestrained—revealed how much he liked the idea. It was also another silent request for more, so Harry gave it to him.

Pulling his hand out of Draco was almost harder than putting it inside, and Harry loved it; loved the way the shining pink of Draco’s rim clung to his hand, loved the way it went white with tension as Harry’s knuckles stretched it out, loved the whine it dragged from Draco. Each push inward, pull outward, eased the way. Draco was slumped into the bed now, Harry’s hands the only thing holding his hips up, and the grunts and helpless moans that blurred into the pillows only just drowned out the obscene sound of well-slicked skin on skin. 

“More now, Draco, all of it,” Harry murmured, and he swallowed hard as he pressed in again; this time with his fingers curled into his palm, a tight fist. 

Draco gasped, a strangled sound of shocked pleasure, and Harry couldn’t help but thrust his hips, dragging his cock against the sole of Draco’s foot. He let Draco pant through it, let him steady his breath, and then he started to push back and forth, gentle pulses of his arm that rocked Draco’s whole body. Like this, it felt like they were locked together, like Harry was irreversibly inside of Draco. He never got over the way it made his heart clench and his pulse pound in his cock, the fact that Draco wanted this much of Harry inside him. 

Harry wanted more, but they’d never gone beyond this before. 

“Draco.”

He was quiet, all breath and the animal shiver of muscles. But Harry needed to ask.

“Draco,” Harry leaned down and licked around his rim, uncaring of the lube, wanting to taste the place his wrist held Draco open. “Draco, do you want my cock?”

Draco turned his head, and his face was red and sweaty, utterly undone. He just panted, but Harry knew he didn’t understand. So he knelt up, and pressed his erection into Draco’s crease, rubbed it between Draco’s arsecheek and his own wrist. 

“Do you want it?” he asked, again, and paused all movement to make room for Draco’s words.

Silence reigned for the space of long, pounding heartbeats, and Harry thought he might have gone too far, might have asked too much. Draco flexed his fingers where they gripped, white-knuckled, at their bedsheets. He opened his mouth, quiet, bit his lip, hard, then licked his lips and nodded.

“Yeah?” Harry asked.

Draco’s reply was hoarse, but unmistakable. “Yes.”

Harry’s ears rang with it, and white-hot want flushed through him—like a rage, like a fever—until he gasped in a breath and reined himself back from the edge of losing control. He hadn’t expected Draco to agree.

“Okay, okay, let me—” he swallowed.

He gripped himself loosely, and with a muttered incantation—he was too far gone for wordless spells—he slicked his cock up before settling himself firmly on wide-spread knees. He had to turn his wrist, the one inside Draco, to give himself room to press forward. It looked impossible, and for a moment he backed away. But Draco pushed back, and murmured Harry’s name into the quiet, and then it was impossible to stop. 

Harry loosened his fist, as much as he could in the tight confines of Draco’s body, and pulled his hand out just enough to fit the head of his cock into the fold of his palm. His hand was body-hot, and he pushed forward again—just a little, just enough to seat his palm again, just enough to have the tip of his cock inside Draco, too. He couldn’t look away, not even up to Draco’s face. Harry’s balls were tight and throbbing, and his cock and his hand were inside Draco, and just the thought of that, just the fact of it—real, and trembling, and beyond his imagination—was enough to have him on the brink of orgasm.

Draco hitched his hips again, the slightest movement back towards Harry, and like a spell it undid Harry’s reluctant pause. He inched forward, sliding his cock into Draco, into the tight clutch of his own grip inside of Draco, and began to rock. Gently. Slowly. It was enough. Draco shuddered, his toes curled and every muscle in his back clenched, as he howled through an orgasm that felt cataclysmic around Harry’s knuckles. 

The sight of it, the _feel_ of it, touched down into the burning coil of sensation in the cradle of Harry’s hips—in his fingertips, in the head of his cock where it pressed into Draco beyond the wrap of his own fingers—and ignited. Harry came, and he felt his own release slicking inside Draco’s body, and he bowed low over Draco’s back to bear the scalding pleasure of it.

Aftershocks still lit up Harry’s nerves, but he pulled out, and rocked back on his heels to watch the way Draco tighten up around his wrist again. The tremble in Draco’s thighs had turned into fullblown shaking, so Harry murmured soft words and pushed him down to the mattress until he was flat on his belly and Harry had to hunch down to keep his arm at the right angle for him.

“I’m going to pull out now, Draco,” a gentle warning. He kissed the base of Draco’s back, then rested his cheek on the muscle of his arse.“Breathe out, slow for me.”

Draco did, and Harry gently but swiftly drew his hand out—against the resistance of Draco’s body, now fixed on keeping him inside—until only his fingertips remained. He watched his come drip out, running along the seam of his fingers. He watched as Draco’s hole twitched and clenched around the sudden emptiness. He wanted to lick at that swollen skin. Instead he stroked his wet fingertips across the well-worked muscle, a tender touch that sent a shiver up Draco’s spine.

Draco’s fingers threaded into Harry’s hair, then gripped. “Come here,” he asked, voice rough.

Harry kept his hand where it was, covering where Draco was stretched and open, and shifted his way up the bed until he lay beside him. “Alright?”

“Kiss me,” Draco’s voice was slurred with orgasm. His mouth was hot and open, his bottom lip swollen from his own teeth. He kissed Harry with tired languor. Harry couldn’t help but sweep his tongue into his mouth, chasing more of that electric spark that still echoed in his bones. He circled two fingers around Draco’s rim, and pulled back to look him in the eye.

“Alright?”

Draco rolled his eyes, but couldn’t hide the satisfied curl of his mouth. “Go and run me a bath,” he said, and Harry darted in for another kiss. 

**Author's Note:**

> If you enjoyed this, leave a kudos or comment and let me know your favourite bit, and come and say hello on [Tumblr!](https://shealwaysreads.tumblr.com/) ❤️


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